


Count your Blessings

by Zephyrum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bartender AU, Dirk and Dave are both destructive messes and find comfort in each other, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Smut, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Dubcon, M/M, Modern AU, No Game AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:43:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyrum/pseuds/Zephyrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk B. Walker is a well-known and well-loved bartender at The Pink Pony, a popular bar near the outskirts of town. He’s famous for witty one liners, being swift at his job, and having electric eyes that hardly reveal what he’s thinking. He’s cut off and distant, and rumoured to have few friends— but Dirk dislikes the idea of anybody getting close after all. That’s how people get hurt, and Dirk has the scars to prove it. Struggling with his own inner demons and the idea he’s incapable of being loved, and only lusted after, it all changes one night when a short, shaded blond man walks in, and challenges everything Dirk ever thought he knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, and thanks for stopping by!  
> This fic was inspired by an RP I had once, and I'm excited to really flesh it out and write out this adventure that hopefully pulls through! I'm sorry in advance if I forgot any tags, and I'd be grateful if you told me which ones I missed so I could add it on up!
> 
> Thanks for reading, enjoy!

The first time Dirk remembered the burning crawl of Gin down his throat was when he had been 16 years old, his elder brother having been out of the house and the shining surface of the blue bottle labelled _Bombay Sapphire_ sitting on the counter next to the stove. Curiosity had bested him, and his lithe fingers had shakenly grabbed the neck of the bottle and brought it close to his chest where he could cradle it in fear of dropping it. His memory was fuzzy, but Dirk was certain he had then poured a small amount of it into a small glass before trying to put the bottle back as close to its original position as he could. The smell was memorable though— sharp and powerful, his nose scrunching up as he brought the lip of the glass to his mouth. _If Roxy drinks this stuff on the regular, it can’t be that bad,_ he had remembered thinking. He was met with a taste much like pine, strong and bitter on his tongue as he struggled in swallowing, the burn following suit.

When he had talked to Roxy about it over text later that night, she had chirped him relentlessly for having not added a chaser to his drink, and that was what he got by taking matters into his own hands and not consulting an ‘experpt ;)’ as she had texted. It wasn’t as if he had known any better.

The second time Dirk remembered wincing at the taste of pure Gin was when he had turned 21, the last to do so out of all of his friends and they had gone to a bar in celebration. Surrounded by friends, Roxy had retold the story of the first time for them to all laugh at as he was dared to do it a second time. Dirk remembered he had looked up and had caught the eye of a stranger— dark and handsome, with burning eyes that just seemed to beg Dirk to follow through. To prove he was tough enough to withstand the burn. Dirk stared back for a moment, smiled, and raised his hand to call over for the waitress. _“Bring me a shot of pure Bombay Sapphire”_ he had called, glancing back over to the stranger while he waited for his drink, and in hesitant hands he tilted his head back to his cheering friends and downed his anxieties in one crystal clear gulp.

The third time was the lingering taste of pine on his lips as he was pressed against a wall, his shirt haphazardly thrown to the floor as the stranger he had seen in the bar pressed his body up against his. Later Dirk learned his name was Caliborn as the other man drew forth his name from Dirk’s lips from hard pressed kisses, and bite marks that bruised his skin for days afterwards. He was dark and tall and handsome, with dangerous eyes that were a deep brown to compliment his chocolate skin. Later, Dirk would learn of the skull tattoo that he had on his back, where it had two pool balls for eyes.

The taste of pine clung to his lips often on nights where he gasped for breath as strong hands wrapped around his neck, as his body was beaten and bruised, where he clung to Gin mixed with oranges to get him through the vicious fights and long, lonely nights where he was left scratched, bruised, and sometimes bloody from fingernails that scraped to hard, or from teeth that had sunk too far into skin. As Dirk drowned himself in liquid fire, he had always told himself it was of his own volition. The amount of times he had seen a crystalline blue bottle resembling precious gems grew over two long, hard years. The amount of times he stopped caring whether or not he had a chaser with his Gin occurred more often, too.

An uncountable time was when Dirk feared for his life— his lover having murder in his eyes. He had done something bad, he had _always_ done something bad, and Caliborn was ruthless in the ways he made sure Dirk knew he had done wrong. _“What had I told you about talking to that slut again?”_ He had meant Roxy, or maybe Jane. Dirk wasn’t sure anymore. _“If you loved me Dirk, you’d stop. You do love me, don’t you? Those fat bitches sure don’t, and neither does that pussy of a man Jake. I thought he was OK once, but he just wants you all for himself, too. They’re all selfish, Dirk.”_ His memories became fuzzy, but Dirk next remembered one of those blue bottles smashing and the sharp edge being directed towards him. He remembered the way his heart fluttered in his chest, going far too fast than it should have. He remembered feeling the burn— not of Gin down his throat but as something sharp lacerated his skin.

_“Stop.”_ He remembered saying.

He doesn’t remember it stopping.

He remembered feeling his eyes burn after crying and how his lips feel raw, how _he_ feels raw and used and violated, and how Caliborn held him in his arms as if nothing had happened. The washboard like ridges he remembered feeling in his skin the next day confirm whatever fears he had, and with the taste of Gin on his lips, he remembered running away when Caliborn is at work.

The memory of how Roxy looked when she first saw him burns brightly in Dirk’s mind, he knows that much, and he tries to push it away. But she’s covering her mouth, and her eyes are watering as she tenderly brings him inside with a protective hug. She doesn’t turn him away; she doesn’t feel betrayed from him growing distant. Dirk remembered feeling thankful for that.

Of course, Dirk remembered a lot more than that. It had been 2 years of his life that had started out as bliss turned into a hell that he still had the scars to prove was real. He shudders while he curls into the covers on his bed, one hand slowly running over the scars that lined his ribcage, that spin webs around his thighs. Caliborn couldn’t have been blamed for all of them, but Dirk could think that way if he wanted while he still had the taste of Gin upon his lips. The tall man grimly laughs to himself as he remembers the way he felt as if he would be fine after it all, too.

In reality, Dirk was far from fine— he lived by himself in a small apartment, a few years after the initial break up now. After all, he had a job, he still had his close friends, he was financially stable— but Dirk was lonely beyond belief. Caliborn had scarred him in a way he felt as if he didn’t deserve love or affection, and any sort of spark he could have felt towards someone was quickly dashed away by anxiety and fear. Caliborn had taught him he was only an object to have been lusted after, after all, and when anyone dared to raise their voice into a yell he always flinched.

_Always_.

Dirk shifted with a sigh, clutching his head in his hands as he begrudgingly sat up as the clock chimed that it was now 2:00pm. He had to start getting ready for work after all, for he couldn’t stay holed up in his room forever. So he kicked off his covers and maneuvered around the depressing state of his room, where there were piles of clothes and toppled over books all over the floor. Scraps of paper and mechanical parts lined the window sills, and once loved projects seemed untouched— disregarded. It reflected how Dirk felt in more ways than one as he stumbled into the bathroom to have a shower, grabbing a mildly dirty towel from the rack before slipping under the cold water that burst from the shower head. He slumped against the wall, tilting his head back as the cold gush of water slid over his skin as he simply _stood_ there, unwilling or wanting to move. It was how showers normally worked for Dirk: he’d stand there all pretty like, running his fingers over scars and clutching at his skin before eventually he’d wash up and step out. His attempt to dry was half assed, having given himself the time he knew he would take to dry naturally as he wrapped the orange towel around his waist as he shuffled into the kitchen.

Dirty dishes piled into the sink, and Dirk walked past all of them as he hesitated near the blue bottle. He had taken a shot today already, much earlier in the morning, and there was a policy where he couldn’t show up to work drunk… but after all these years, Dirk had built up a tolerance, and who said being a little buzzed wouldn’t hurt his social skills? His lithe hands grabbed the neck of the bottle, and Dirk took a cold, hard chug. He shuddered at the burn that crawled down his neck, and licked his lips as the remnants of the flavour of pine washed away. He opened cupboard doors in search of food to find empty shelves and stale bread. Stale bread was better than nothing, Dirk supposed, and inwardly flinched at the thought of having to grocery shop. He had the money for it, damn it, but anxiety held him back.

_Caliborn will find you, and he won’t be so gentle next time._ Was the thought that came with him when he was alone in public, but Dirk disliked constantly asking Roxy to go with him. It felt childish; it felt like… it felt like… _It feels like I’m wasting their time._ Dirk thought to himself grimly as he grabbed the pieces of bread and reached into his fridge to grab the marmalade spread. Thankfully, it was still good, and he slathered a thin layer on toasted bread and bit into it as he flopped onto the couch. His eyes wandered listlessly over the room, nearly glazed over, reflecting over the filthy status of which he lived in. There was dust on the tables, thrown notebooks on the floor, empty sapphire bottles sprawled over various sections of floor from having been kicked about.

It was _always_ those _fucking blue bottles_.

Any anger that could have been felt over analyzing himself was quelled when he heard a familiar tone start to play from his phone, the screen lighting up. He reached over and felt for the cool surface of his phone case before bringing it over, seeing the text message pop up on his screen. It was from Roxy, as most texts were— she was always the one who checked up on him out of all of his friends. The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile as he read her words, tapping at his screen to reply.

> Roxy: Hey Dirk bb! how r u doing?
> 
> Dirk: Hey RoLal. I’m the same, y’know, eating stale ass bread and sitting on the couch staring into nothing. What about you?
> 
> Roxy: Dirk Walker u should kno better than 2 eat stale ass bread! ass bread doesn’t even sound that good :(
> 
> Roxy: wait does this mean ur out of food??? dirk u kno I don’t mind g shopping with u!!!
> 
> Dirk: Yeah, I know. But I’ll hold out Roxy, really. We can go this weekend though if you’re so concerned.
> 
> Roxy: im a proud mama birb so ofc im concerned!!! this weekend it is then ;D
> 
> Roxy: u should get out of the house 2 tho!!! do u want 2 come over 2nite and watch a movie with janey and me?
> 
> Dirk: I would Rox, but I have work tonight.

As his fingers tapped the words out and Dirk hit send, he put his phone off to the side of the couch as he looked out towards the porch window. That was right, he _did_ have work tonight, and he felt nothing over the thought of it. There was a dull ache of excitement somewhere in the back of his mind, or maybe even from his heart, since at work, Dirk was an entirely different person. He had gotten a job that screamed at him to stay far away from, it was an enabler, and it didn’t even know it. It shot his anxiety through the roof, but no one there ever thought anything was wrong. He was fawned over, and the part of him that craved deep intimacy was filled with only snippets of what it was like. He could drown out that loneliness for a night, when he got drunk and someone took him home. The morning after was always bitter for him, and made him crave that damned blue bottle more than anything, but when one was a popular bartender with smooth looks and ‘electrifying’ eyes, no one questioned how much alcohol he owned.

Well, except Roxy, but Dirk always managed to hide some of the truth from her too, at least.

His phone dinged again, and Dirk looked down to see her reply, heaving himself off of the couch so he could go and get dressed into uniform before heading off to work.

> Roxy: boo, u suck dirk ;P
> 
> Roxy: txt me when ur home tho, ok?
> 
> Roxy: and i hope u have a good shift!
> 
> Roxy: …but seriously, Dirk? Text me when you’re home.

He locked his phone without responding, ignoring the guilt that came when he chose not to reply to Roxy’s serious texts. He had forgotten to text her back a few times before much to her annoyance and worry, but hey, he was always there next time. _One time you almost weren’t._ He reminded himself again dimly.

Dirk settled that maybe one last shot of Gin before work wouldn’t hurt anybody.

He remembered the burn going down his throat as he slammed the glass on the table, the clinking of keys as he locked his door, and his grim face set like stone as he set off for work. He’d transform when he’d walk through the bars doors, he’d become what the people would want him to be.

But he would remember the blue bottle waiting for him when he returned home.


	2. Dave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another long, arduous day at work and Dirk is destructive, despite the masks he wears while at work. He meets Dave, and with his interests piqued, he's fallen hook line and sinker. Lost in eyes he can't even see, plans are made, and Dirk already starts to feel the temptation of Gin calling to him despite it not being easily accessible by the time he agrees to take someone to their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up and running! The start of smut WOULD have been here, but it got a little too long...  
> You're just going to have to stick around until Chapter 3 for that delicious first encounter! ;D

A week had passed, and his cupboards and fridge were once again stocked with food and a peculiar amount of orange juice. He had brought them all up himself ( there had been no need for Roxy to see the state his apartment was in ) and had put them all away, and that countered as doing something for the entirety of the month, right? Now he didn’t have to feel so guilty about the mess and look of things. Yet he kept his blinds closed and his lights off, just to ease off any sort of anxiety and suspicion that anyone could see how ill fit he was to take care of himself.

The need to do laundry was getting threateningly close however, and Dirk was nearly tempted to just go out and buy more boxers than clean the ones he already owned. But there wasn’t enough time between work and then the exhausted mess he became when at home, so he supposed laundry day would come sooner or later. _Later will do_ , he decided, once again having down a glass of Gin, and his keys jangled in his hands. He had work again tonight, a late shift at that, and the thought of not being back in his hellhole of an apartment until 3 am in the morning excited him. It would be doubly exhausting, trying to pretend he didn’t want to die and that aggravated voices scared him, but The Pink Pony was one of the few places he felt at ease in either which way.

He locked the door behind him, turned down the long hallway, and set on his way.

Of course it didn’t take long to actually get there— Dirk was within walking distance of the bar. That was part of the reason this job was so pleasant, and the other was he could simply wear his uniform to and from, and the thought that he didn’t _look_ depressed from the way he dressed was enough. His figure was adorned in black dress pants and shoes, a white collared shirt with a vest overtop, and the snazzy uniforms and the way he styled his tousled blond hair was enough to see why he was one of the more popular bartenders. Yet his orange eyes never so much as chanced a glance at the strangers he passed by; he simply wouldn’t have the energy or the script for it.

Nonetheless, with his coat under his arm and his bag slung over his shoulder, Dirk took a deep breath to calm his nerves and he steeled his gaze as he pushed past the doors and entered the bar. The lights were dim and the music was tinkling in from overheard through the speakers, people bustled at tables, and others were already seated at the bar. It was the normal sort of crowd who was currently visible, and later, when people got drunker and party addicts rose from their crypts, Dirk would find himself the caretaker of many a person’s drink. He shuffled to the back employee’s only room to leave his coat and his bag, straightening himself and his bowtie before exiting. Already he had caught a few peoples eye as they waved in his direction. Dirk gave them a small smile and a raised brow as he slipped behind the bars counter to relieve the other worker. His own co-worker would show up shortly, he was sure, but for now it was cleaning glasses and serving drinks as he slipped the bar tenders apron around his waist.

Next step was steeling himself up for when the eventual flirting would start coming his way. Always starting with a _“hey handsome”_ or other such line, drunken or sober folks would talk to him as if he was obligated to flirt back. He was eye candy for their minds, to be saved and snapped for later. Sometimes Dirk could feel them undressing him with their eyes, and those were the ones he knew to be the most careful about. He sometimes flirted back, it took up the hours and made the job more interesting, and it kept his popularity within the bar wild. Caliborn had taught him he was to be lusted after, and despite Roxy telling him otherwise the thought was still ingrained in his mind.

So sometimes, he’d be taken home, too.

He was always filled with regret and anxieties the morning after, slipping away while they were still asleep. Most of the time they never noticed, or cared, or even remembered half the time depending on how drunk they were, let alone how drunk Dirk was himself. _No one could ever love a little bitch like you. You walk past and all they see is a little cum slut just ripe for the taking, and even if someone_ did _fall in love with you, they’d find out soon enough there’s not much to love and leave._ Of _course_ Caliborn would haunt his thoughts in such a manner, and Dirk would drown them out with his bright eyes interlocking into a patrons, would drown it out with the smell of liquor on their breath, and would drown it out by the way their hands would touch his skin and how he’d turn around and become the dominating one in the scenario. He was too afraid for them to see his scars, and not the picture perfect body they always imagined— and they never minded when he was the one in control.

Of course there was always the Gin, too, but that was beside the point.

Work continued on then, arduous and dragging on, never ending, and yet Dirk never wanted it to end. He liked and disliked the attention all at once, and sometimes he’d slip into the backroom to clutch his head in his hands as he calmed his anxiety, before coolly strolling right back out as if nothing ever happened. Still, he’d serve macho men their ‘hardcore’ drinks, and women whatever they wanted. He kept an eye out for idiots who tried to drug one another, and an even closer eye at the door that jingled, barely audible over the music and the crowd to watch whenever someone new would walk in. It was easy to spot the newbies from the veterans after a while, as was the case when a short, boyish looking man pushed his way through. Dirk quirked a brow, curious, as he looked far too young and yet…

_If he’s made it past the bodyguard, his ID’s legit._ Dirk thought to himself, shrugging it off before glancing at the other man one more time. He had short blond hair that covered his forehead, a white shirt with a black jacket overtop, and red skinny jeans. Most peculiarly Dirk noticed, was the pair of shades that rested on his head. _Either he’s a prick or he’s blind,_ Dirk thought, turning back to his work as he smiled with a raised brow towards a customer. They shot back a witty remark, Dirk shot one of his own back, and then the other blond had sat down at the bar.

Dirk watched him closely from a distance, feeling drawn, and feeling repulsed all at once. The other man seemed more interested in their paper rack then he did at even _being_ here, and that was usually the sign of a rough day. Dirk didn’t know what was up, but when he had raised a hand and called for a drink, Dirk was the one within earshot. He had called for a Baileys with a shot of butterscotch? Huh. Dirk set about to grabbing the glass and the drink, lean fingers grasping the neck of the Baileys bottle and pouring it with ease before adding the shot and placing it on the counter, sliding it towards the red dressed man.

He had already thrown his money on the counter by the time it was within his reach, and Dirk thought now or never in finding out what sort of person he was like. He seemed cute so far anyways, and Dirk was feeling destructive— if he was lucky, maybe he’d get a stand that he was interested in, too.

“Long day at the office? On the house,” he mused, sliding on over and leaned onto the counter, his fingers thrumming out a rhythm against the grains of wood. It had caught the other mans attention, which was good, as his head shot up and he moved the hair out of his gaze. Dirk thought with growing frustration that in these dim lights, he couldn’t even begin to try and peer past the dark shades. Yet, the other man raised a brow, and he smiled, reaching out to retrieve the change he had so haphazardly tossed onto the counter.

“Guess you could say that, just tryna get the better job to quit my office work actually. Now then, why the drink? Something tells me you ain’t no good Christian man doing this for a pour soul,” he half rambled, half inquired. Dirk raised an eyebrow at the mouthful of words he was sending his way, and despite the fact he was listening, he also took to taking care of other customers all the while, before grabbing a glass to clean before turning back to Dirk.

“Haven’t been in a church for years, besides, no amount of God could scrub the damned off of this place or the people in it,” he said, his smooth voice coming off sincerely. His orange gaze cast out over the crowds, a small hint of affection behind his steely gaze, and he could feel the shaded man staring up back at him. It unnerved him, if only for the shades, and Dirk turned back with no indication of emotion on his shoulders, shrugging nonetheless.

“Anyways, it’s an age old bartender rule, y’know? Strike up a conversation with the rough day case, buy ‘em a drink.” He mused, that rule obviously being fake, but it was enough to keep the conversation going. He watched as the other man snorted, thrumming his fingers against the counter top now, much like how Dirk had been doing earlier. It was _some_ sort of response, and that was good enough for Dirk as he picked up another glass to clean in exchange for the former.

“Seems like a shitty rule if you ask me, a good way to lose profit,” the other man muses, and once again Dirk shrugs. He has a point, but Dirk didn’t do this often. He really only wanted something to make him regret waking up one more morning, and sure, maybe he wouldn’t get it tonight, and he’d feel the guilt of flirting the day after if he succeeded, but right now none of that mattered. What mattered was that Dirk was looking at this other man now, a brow raised in an ‘oh?’ fashion, trying to glimpse behind those shades to learn his chances. All he saw was himself staring back however, and he turned away.

“Sure, that’s why it’s only done with the attractive patrons,” he said easily enough, on the outside remaining cool, on the inside his heart fluttered wildly. He could be politely turned down, or the patron could throw a fit— the bodyguards would take care of him, then, but then Dirk lost out on a pretty face and he didn’t want the alternative to destructive tendencies. But a moment of surprise lingered between them, and when Dirk glanced back again, he saw the look of intrigued surprise melt into a wry smile on the other mans face as he nursed at his drink, fingers continuing to thrum against the surface.

“Mm, you think I’m attractive then? What makes you think I’m into men? Of course, you’re not wrong… what’s your name, man?” He spouts, laughing, sipping at his drink some more, and Dirk feels the tension in his shoulders dissipate easily enough as he tends to more patrons, his eyes bright, before he turned back to the stranger. Dirk licked his lips, before shrugging, his small smile yet coy.

“Lucky guess? And it’s Dirk. Dirk B. Walker.” He introduces himself and sticks out his hand, trying his best to not have it shake. His hands typically always shook if he didn’t focus on having them not, and after having it in the air for a few moments he watches the other man reach forward and grip him. He surprised Dirk by giving a light squeeze, before returning his own name.

“And I’m Dave. Dave Strider. Pleasure,” he says, and despite the fact that Dirk can’t see behind his shades, he can see the toothy grin growing wider and wider on his face, and Dirk raises a brow. Perhaps he got lucky after all, and now he just had to play the rest of the evening off smoothly enough.

“No need, the pleasure’s all mine, Dave.” He makes sure to have his caramel smooth voice drop an octave as he leans in across the counter, and he sees the way Dave’s eyebrow twitches when he does so, before he glances quickly at the clock. Seemed like he was close to checking out for the night, and as Dirk straightened himself up and stepped away from the counter, he could feel Dave watching him despite the fact he wasn’t looking at him. Had he remained any closer, Dirk would have sworn he heard him mumble _“I’d open accept any pleasure you have to give”_ under his breath before clearing his throat.

“So Mr. Strider, how do you plan on getting home? By Taxi? Or are you walking? I get off in a few, and I wouldn’t mind leading an inhibited individual back to their house…” he speaks calmly still, cocking his head in the direction of Dave’s drink, who quickly finishes the glass. Dave laughs again as he leans onto the counter, supporting his head by leaning his hand into his cheek, peering up at Dirk from behind those shades.

“Well, if you’re offering, I won’t say no to a midnight stroll.” He comments, and Dirk nods his head. His smile is still small, but on the inside he felt the seed of guilt and regret being planted, along with that queer sense of allurement. He didn’t like the way he felt about the situation, but it was too late to quite now. At least, that was what the anxiety told him, and Dirk went along with it all.

“Well then, when I’m off, feel free to meet me by the back door, and we can go along,” he coos, smiling deviously before he returns to work. He glances at Dave every so often, and occasionally catches him glancing back. Between their initial encounter, he continues flirting with him, and Dave flirts right on back. Dirk revels in the attention, and as they continue to chat in short bursts, Dirk is both anxious and ready for the clock to hit two.


End file.
